


It's always the asshole

by kalika_999



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Companionable Snark, Fantasizing, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Brock's a great captain, he's a shitty roommate.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: MCU Kink Bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639597
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4





	It's always the asshole

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'Fantasizing' square for my MCU Kink Bingo card.

Rooming with Brock while they’re on away games is an interesting experience.

For one thing, he’s a total slob who never stops complaining about how messy their hotel room is even if he’s the one that’s created the mess or how it keeps smelling like take out.

“If you have a problem with it, tell housekeeping. That’s what they’re there for, Brock. I’m not here to pick your things up.” Jack pointedly tells him, two days into their first string of away games for the new NHL season. “I’m not your fucking servant, jesus christ.”

Brock smirks at him.

“No ya ain’t, but I’m yer Captain. So that- ” He starts but Jack cuts him off.

“ _For the team_ , out on the ice or in the locker room, or when we’re working as a group. Not here in the hotel room.” Jack backs it up with a glare but Brock just laughs, dropping down onto his bed. He takes particular joy in winding him up, possibly because he falls for it every single time. It’s just that he doesn’t get him. Sure Jack’s the new guy on the team, the  _ rookie _ , but shit it’s annoying.

“Oh, shut up.” He grinds out, throwing his dirty boxers at Brock’s face just as he’s tossing his head back to laugh at him again and Jack stalks off to the bathroom.

Brock is also incredibly superstitious about rituals like going to bed on time before a game. He sees no problem with leaning up and switching the lamp off between their beds at 10pm exactly, regardless of where Jack is in his book. He even goes so far as to yank out the plug to make it a point not to bother with it and takes out the bulb to hide it away from him after the first time Jack made an attempt to continue reading. 

Brock is clearly insane.

The problem is that despite his need to have order and rituals before their games, despite how he goes out of his way to annoy and exasperate Jack at every turn, Brock is a great player, a fantastic captain, and Jack respects him. 

He even likes him.

Maybe a little too much.

So much so, it’s a bit of a personal issue.

*****

His personal problem gets too much at times, like when Brock likes to lounge around their hotel room in his boxers.

Tight ones, like they’re more short shorts than what boxers are for, well at a comfortable loose fit kind of standpoint. 

Jack almost wants to ask if it’s too late to bunk up with Johnson instead, but then Sam is usually sharing with him and he’d have to owe Sam big for it since he also can’t stand Brock’s need to walk around mostly naked (seriously those boxers look painted on, what’s the point of them?) and being messy.

The first time he does it, Jack chucks a towel at him and tells him to stop trying to show off since it’s after one of his instagram uploads where he’s in front of the half mirror that cuts off at his waist to tease his fans with that fresh out of the shower look where he may be naked.

“I’m too hot fer clothes.” Brock tells him, which for a second Jack thinks means his body looks good but then realizes he means the climate which is ridiculous, since he can control the temperature of the room and also they’re in Calgary. In late January. “Besides I like bein’ comfortable.”

Jack isn’t sure what that means, except that he should maybe be thanking the gods that Brock isn’t lounging around in front of him naked.

“Buy some class.” Jack mutters, settling on his bed and putting his earbuds in so he can pointedly ignore Brock for the rest of the night.

The other habit of Brock’s that is driving Jack to distraction is his propensity to exercise when he’s stressed. If he’s thinking about a game coming up, if he’s winding down from one they’ve just played, if he’s worrying that Bucky’s wrist or some other teammate’s injury not healing quickly enough, he exercises.

Which means Jack often finds himself trying to relax while Brock goes through a series of pushups, sit ups, planks, and crunches, usually in his underwear. It’s unbelievably hot to watch, or maybe it’s just Jack, because Brock is usually a little sweaty and a lot grumpy, letting out these ridiculous little grunts as he goes through his reps.

“You’re going to strain something one day doing all that, and then you’ll bitch that I didn’t stop you.” Jack tells him, sitting on his bed with the covers over his lap to hide any side effects of Brock’s workout. He should just leave the room when Brock does this, plenty of teammates to drop in on, but he never does.

“I’m ain’t stupid, I know m’body.” Brock says. He does five more push ups and then stands. “But yer right, if I did, I’d probably blame ya.”

Jack doesn’t roll his eyes. “It stinks in here, go take a shower.” 

Brock just smirks at him before he heads to the bathroom, but his eyes linger just a fraction on Jack, his gaze a little hot, and Jack has to raise his book up higher to end the conversation and avoid Brock altogether.

*****

The thing is, sometimes Jack wonders.

He connects with Brock on the ice like with no one he’s ever played with. He always knows exactly where Brock is, without having to look, and Brock is the same, he has this strong bonded instinct to know how Jack is about to move. And there are times when they’re flying down the ice and his pass lands right on Brock’s tape and Brock smacks it in for a game winner. Jack reacts to the adrenaline and his feelings, bodily pulls Brock to his chest hard and they’re both grinning like idiots as Brock grips a hand to the back of his neck and they press foreheads together against the backdrop of lights and flashes of cameras and the screaming pitch of the crowd, eyes locked deep and it makes Jack _wonder_. 

It happens in the locker room too, when Brock puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. It somehow conveys the positive words Brock doesn’t say, the slight nod of his head, the look in his eyes that he played great out there, even if Jack gets into a fight for him and there’s a goal during the power play because of his protective nature. Brock still praises him, because they got a win and besides the hiccup, there was a victory. He even catches Brock’s eye a few stalls over and he’s looking at him with this weird mixture of pride, exasperation and affection on his face.

Or when they’re out with the rest of the team, and Brock throws a casual arm around the back of Jack’s chair and leaning into him a little after a couple beers, or sometimes they end up drinking out of the same beer bottle or mug and Jack is a little too invested in making sure Brock’s comfortable with that lean against him and Brock lets him.

It’s driving him crazy.

*****

Jack and a few of the guys had plans to go out after the game to have a bit of a celebration for the 3 - 0 shutout Tony managed to get them, especially since their last game was a loss that he, as their main goaltender, took way too personally.

They were all a little worn out though, from the back to back games, and were in agreement to sit in the hotel bar, talk shit about the game, good or bad and chirp each other good-naturedly. Teammates slowly begin drifting off towards their rooms, Brock being one of the first guys at a few minutes before 10 and soon it’s only Jack, Tony and Bucky that are left when it’s almost midnight. It’s about then that they decide they too should call it a night and start gathering their phones and keycards to get a move on. 

He’s only had a couple of drinks, so he’s feeling warm and relaxed rather than drunk and shitfaced like Stark is, needing Bucky to practically carry him to the elevator as they head to their rooms. It’s probably good; Brock gets preachy and annoying on the rare occasion that Jack is drunk, even though out of the both of them, Brock’s the one that drinks like he’s got nothing better to do and is almost comparable to Tony at certain times. 

Jack slips into the room as quietly as he can, and sure enough, the lights are off and Brock is in bed, asleep from the sound of his breathing. Jack can’t be bothered to shower, he already had a quick one at the arena and he doesn’t want to wake Brock up, so he undresses quickly and slips into bed.

Jack’s mind is still a little too keyed up for him to sleep, and instead he replays the game in his mind, thinking about where they were good, what they did right, where they could have been better. Tony was a fucking wall in the goal tonight, Sam and Steve were on top of things making it hard for the offense to gain footing and Brock..

Well, Brock was amazing.

He’s so fast, it still sometimes takes Jack’s breath away to watch him, and god, his _hands_. He replays Brock’s second goal, a sweet spot in the damn barely open five-hole, and he’d crashed into a hug with Jack afterwards, laughing and yelling and so fucking happy. Brock’s so hot when he’s on, overwhelming and tempting all at once. He’s powerful and a force to be reckoned with, and before Jack even thinks about it, he’s trailing his hand down his chest to press against his half-hard cock.

Shit, he shouldn’t do this, not when Brock’s right there in the other bed, possibly not yet completely sound asleep, especially with him joining the room only a few minutes ago. But he’s just thinking about Brock on the ice and it’s getting him going; never mind the Brock that he sees in here, half-naked and sweaty, grinning annoyingly at Jack as he does sit ups and leaves his things everywhere and drives Jack up the wall.

Fuck.

Jack gives up the pretense that he’s not going to do this, and starts to tease himself through his briefs, working himself up to full hardness. He wonders what Brock likes, whether he’s into taking his time, drawing it out. He probably doesn’t have time to do that when they’re on the road, but what about back home? He has no trouble picturing Brock spread out on his enormous bed in his apartment, hand around his cock, head thrown back against the covers.

A groan slips out of him at that thought, and he quickly bites his lip and slows his hand. Brock doesn’t stir, and after a heart-pounding few seconds, Jack shoves his underwear down and takes his cock in hand.

Part of him wants to keep going slowly, indulge his fantasies like he so rarely allows himself to, but he can’t risk it. He thinks a little, lingers about maybe how Brock touches himself, does he run a couple of wet fingers past his balls and work himself open? He’s unsure Brock would be into that if he’d even be into men but Jack would love to do it for him if he wanted to ever. He stops himself before he gets too many ideas, draws this all out longer than it has to be, the sound of his hand sliding over his dick already feels too loud in the quiet room, even under the covers. He just needs to get off as quickly as possible.

He speeds up his hand, twisting his wrist the way he likes it. It feels amazing, more potent than usual, like something in it heightened just by Brock’s proximity. He’s starting to leak, precome smearing the head of his cock, and he spreads it with his thumb, breath catching as his fingers linger on the sensitive skin. He turns his head into his pillow, biting down on it to stifle the way he’s beginning to pant.

Would Brock’s mouth be as good as it is in Jack's head? Maybe, maybe not. Jack’s never seen him with a guy, doubts he’s ever given a blowjob in his life. But then he’s heard a ridiculous amount of stories from the guys, where Brock sneaks off and never mentions what he does, but there’s signs and signals Jack hasn’t been able to notice yet. Either way, Brock’s so recklessly determined, so focused and dedicated, that Jack thinks he’d catch on quickly, that he’d take Jack into his mouth perfectly before long, sucking at the head the way Jack likes. Maybe even taking him into the back of his throat and allowing Jack to fuck his face a little as his hands wander into that hair of his and hold on for dear life. 

Jack’s hand is working him good now, thighs straining with the effort of keeping his hips from fucking up into his fist. The restraint he’s having to show, the effort of holding back his moans and stalling his hips, makes everything more intense. It turns him on more, if anything, but it’s also making it harder for him to cum. He so badly wants to throw his covers off, plant his feet on the bed, push into his hand and breathe as heavily as he likes with Brock’s name on his lips when he cums.

Something shifts in the atmosphere of the room, and Jack is suddenly aware that Brock’s breathing has changed. He takes his hand off his cock instantly, heart in his throat and turning to look over at Brock’s bed.

Brock looks asleep, flat on his back, but his breathing is too shallow, too fast, has years of experience bunking with a room full of guys to tell what was going on just by how they’d breathe. Jack can hear it now that he’s holding his own. And God, Jack wonders if he’s imagining it, but Brock’s hand is resting over his own crotch, Jack can see it under the sheet, not moving at all, but almost like he’s maybe..

Brock’s hand shifts slightly, and yes, he’s definitely teasing himself, pressing down on his cock in an effort to maybe keep control of himself? The obvious thought makes Jack feel a little dizzy, but he can’t know for sure, and he can’t exactly _ask_.

“Jack.” Brock breathes, and his eyes are still shut but he’s definitely awake, and he moves his hand again and this time it’s slow and obvious, like a tease but not meaning it to be. Jack’s cock, which had started to soften in sheer terror of being caught is rapidly hardening again. “Jackie, _please_.”

Jack doesn't know what he’s asking for, what he wants, so he does the first thing that comes to mind and pulls away the bedsheets guarding his naked body and he takes his cock back in hand, stroking himself a few times, lips still pursed together. If Brock wants to see, he can see all he likes. It’s unbelievable that this is happening, whatever this is. The room feels closed in and heavy now, and the arousal is thrumming in his blood.

“Stop bein’ fuckin’ quiet, ya don’t ‘ave to, _Jack_.” Brock sounds frustrated and so damn turned on. He’s clearly stroking his dick now, the thin white hotel room sheet forming around his hand and along his quivering thighs that hide nothing and fuck, that’s Brock’s  _ cock _ there too. “You’re so fuckin’- ”

“Shit, _Brock_.” Jack starts to jerk himself faster, doesn’t bother to hold back the moans and hisses that fall so readily from his lips, desperate to cum. He’s not thinking straight anymore and he just goes for what he wants. “Show me.”

Brock makes a noise, a kind of breathy, sexy whine and it’s like a hard punch in the stomach, like someone’s skated at top speed in his direction and flattens him against the boards when he’s not ready for it. He can’t breathe, but he also wants more of it. 

And Brock, Brock does what he’s asked, the pooling sheets yanked away and Brock isn’t wearing a shred of clothing, body taut and a sheen of sweat across his chest, his hand working himself. He looks good enough to devour. 

“Brock, fuck, you look so- ”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon big guy, wanna hear ya.” Brock begs, sounds completely delirious. “Jack, _please_.”

Brock never says please, he never begs, but now he turns his head and opens his eyes, looking straight at Jack, and even in the darkness Jack can see the desperate expression in his gaze. 

Jack cums, back arching, all over his stomach and chest and fuck, his _chin_. He strokes himself though it, shuddering at the aftershocks, and then he hears Brock cum too, and he’s definitely groaning Jack’s name.

It’s the best thing Jack’s ever heard before, and while he’s left floating on his high, he knows they’re gonna have to talk later. Right now though, Jack’s happy and when he looks over to the other bed to steal a glance at Brock, he’s already staring back at him, glassy eyed with a bit of a smile across his lips.

Cleaning himself off with the sheet, Jack puts a hand out in invitation and slowly Brock moves, soon climbing into his bed before they share a small kiss, and then another, feeling hands roaming over his body.

They’re  _ definitely _ going to have to have a conversation about this, tonight though, Jack’s now realizing he’s still got so much more to give and Brock’s got a hand running down his chest.

“Didn’t know you’d sound that good cummin’.” 

Jack hums, his eyes slipping closed as he feels sleep encroaching. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.”

“I reckon you’d sound better when I get my mouth on ya later.” Brock murmurs, full of promise and Jack feels his dick stir, just barely, as Brock presses closer to his side and settles his head on Jack’s pillow.

Jack cracks an eye open to look at him. “You’re still an asshole by the way.”

Brock grins shamelessly in the darkness, his own eyes shut tight as he pulls the blanket over them. “I know, I’m the captain.”


End file.
